


Let's paint the whole town

by medievaltide



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 2018 larry, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Fluff, Iceland, M/M, eleanor is okay, ex to lovers, niall is annoying, not really angsty i can't write that, one direction - Freeform, they kinda share that really, vers larry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-06-19 07:10:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15505062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/medievaltide/pseuds/medievaltide
Summary: Louis stares at him with a severe little crinkle between his eyebrows as realization hits him. He tears his gaze away from Harry’s, his heart almost jumping off from his chest that he could hear its untamed beating. And if he could feel that familiar sensation pooling in his gut like a wildfire begging to be freed, he tries his best not to show it.Maybe Louis only feels like he’s eighteen again.





	1. I.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know how I came up with this story to be honest. Although, a part of this story is inspired by Stylinsoncity’s To the Ends of The Earth. Read that though, if you haven’t. One of the best larry fics in existence! Anyway, I've always wanted to make a road trip au with Louis and Harry on it. Plus, a canon-compliant wouldn't be so bad now, would it? There are few grammar errors in this one because I refuse to get it proofread. Also, pretty sure this would come off as cliche but I enjoyed writing it! 
> 
> WARNING, Harry Styles would come off as the jerk in the past and I definitely do not think he is like that AT ALL. The hiatus is well-deserved, they all deserved a break and I only added a few bits for the sake of the story.
> 
> Before I forget, there are a few things I've changed in the timeline to fit in with the story. This takes place in December 2018, Harry is still on tour and Louis hasn't released LT1 yet (sadly).

The snow continues to fall straight and steadily from the skies. The icy air whispers around his ear, causing his skin to tingle. It’s unbearably cold. Every breath he takes creates a smoky fog as he saunters through the silent hallway, the wheels of his luggages squeaking against the marble floors. 

Although snug inside many layers of clothes, Louis could still feel the continuous rise of the temperature. His hands and feet are numb from the cold, he could not even feel his limbs anymore.

He starts pondering over his thoughts, thinking that probably this is the worst timing to go over with this idea. Niall had invited him, is the thing. The holidays are coming in a few weeks and unfortunately, Louis could not spend it with his family this year. Lottie had to fly to Canada for a charity event she and her friends are hosting, the twins were apparently going on a trip with their friends while Fizzy got stuck with Dan and the younger twins in London.

So to summarize, Louis was ought to be alone in his flat in Los Angeles—depressingly decorating his Christmas tree (which is unacceptably taller than him) with red and green balls while trying to bake (or burn his house) cookies shaped in Christmas socks and candy canes just to waste his precious time because he has nothing better to do.

And not to mention, he’s gonna have to wank his loneliness away on Christmas Eve—which is also his birthday—because he’s sad and alone and horny and hasn’t gotten laid for a while.

It changed, however, when Niall invited him over to his flat one day. Los Angeles was apparently the last show of the US leg of his on going tour. So when he found out Louis was staying there for the remaining weeks, he contacted him immediately to go hang. Louis did not refuse though, it has also been a long while since he hung out with one of the boys ever since the band went on hiatus.

“So you have no plans this Christmas?” Niall had asked, carefully pulling the oven lid down to inspect the chicken.

Louis sighed. Tracing the rim of his glass as he sat comfortably on one of the chairs in the dining table. He always make himself feel at home in Niall’s flat, or anybody’s honestly. “Do you really have to bring up my loneliness?”

“Was just asking, no need to be sensitive.” Niall giggled, hissing when he carelessly touched the tray inside the oven. He put his finger in his mouth before grabbing the oven gloves hanging by the handle. “What about your birthday?”

“It’s the same. Gonna wank off all day, I guess.” Louis sniffed, the smell of burnt chicken intruding his nose. “How about you, then? Going home to Mullingar?” He scrunched his nose, watching as Niall set down the tray against the table. “You burnt it,”

“Stop complaining.” Niall muttered, shaking his head. “And no, I was planning to go fly to Iceland this season. Travel and stuff,”

Louis frowned. Niall usually goes home to Ireland whenever he had the chance, so it was a bit new to hear he wasn’t this time. And Iceland. Who goes to Iceland in winter? Niall’s literally the most random person Louis has met. “Uh, why?”

Niall shrugged, cutting the chicken into four halves. Trying. “Want some fresh air. Touring is tiring, I guess.” Then he pauses—for a painful minute—before his eyes went darting up to Louis. There was an unexplainable glint in his eyes that Louis didn’t like. Then,

“How about you come with me?”

Louis blinked.

“C’mon, mate. It’ll be fun,” Niall chirped, “There’s lot of shit to like, explore in there. Road trips, hiking, and food.”

“Hiking? It’s winter.” Louis cocked a brow.

“That’s no problem.” Niall said as he put a decent amount on Louis’ plate. “It’s the best time to hike anyway,”

“And how long is this trip gonna be?”

Niall bit back a grin. “Well, it’s gonna be around two weeks. Twelve to Fourteen days, approximately.”

“I see,” Louis nodded, raking over his thoughts.

“Just ring me whenever you make up a decision,” Niall smiled. “You gotta decide fast though, we’ll be leaving next week.”

Louis didn’t answer, he took one bite from the chicken leg and chewed carefully before looking up at Niall who peered at him expectantly. Mischief flashed in his eyes, then he asked, “Did you season this?”

“Fuck you.”

 

So a few days later and several pestering texts from Niall, Louis decided to go. His bags were packed with necessities and clothes, namely tracksuits and adidas hoodies that suit his comfort. He flew all the way to Reykjavik while Niall flew first - his flight being scheduled a day after Louis’ since he purchased a little too late.

So that’s the reason why he’s here. Alone and struggling to pull the large luggages he decided to bring towards the hotel room—because God forbid him to be taller. His eyes darts back down to the message Niall had sent, clearly indicating the name of the hotel and their room number.

Then he stops in front of a door, newly painted with mahogany paint and carved with several outlines that made it look grand. The number 43 hangs up on the middle top, then Louis knocks without hesitation.

He hears a few muffled voices from the inside, then Louis frowns. Niall didn’t tell him that he’s gonna bring guests — or maybe he forgot. He leans towards the door, a bit knackered from travel.

It took him 12 hours in flight, one stop over only since it was the earliest Louis could get. But it didn’t make him feel any less tired, Louis is always tired anyway.

Just as he’s about to get comfortable, the door suddenly opens, pulling him out of his trance. Louis stumbles a bit, only regaining his balance when he held onto the door frame.

“Oops,” A male voice drawls out. Slow, deep and hoarse. Too british and too _familiar_.

Louis looks up, and suddenly he could feel his heart jumping off from his chest. “H–Hi,” He mutters after a few seconds of losing his voice, his mind not working all of a sudden as he blinks at Harry. He frowns, “What are you doing here?”

It came out a bit harsh, but Harry doesn’t seem to mind. His own eyes are darting around anxiously, then his gaze falls upon Louis’ bags. “I.. rented this room?”

Louis doesn’t budge. “No, you didn’t.”

Harry looks up at him, bewilderment painted all over his face. “I—I did,”

Louis is beyond confused. His heart is beating rapidly in his chest while his mind struggles to put the puzzle pieces together to retrieve a conclusion and — Niall.

Niall is the only person who would put an extreme effort to pull off shit like this. He’s nosy, always sticking his nose to other people’s businesses as if his life depends on it. He’d try to patch it up, unaware that he creates the first step leading to a total catastrophe and, And.

Louis’ gonna strangle him to death.

He glances over Harry’s shoulder, eyes filled with fury roving around the room hopelessly. He spots several unzipped luggages located on top of the two king sized beds that sat adjacent to each other, a nightside table separating them. And he thinks, that Harry is for sure not alone. His sight then lands to the door located at the very back, white and less simple than the front. At the same time, it swings open and his perpetrator—Louis clenches his jaw—walks out.

“Niall,” Louis hisses, betrayal painted all over his face as Niall looks back—excitement written over his, no hint of remorse nor anxiety. Honestly, what a dick.

“Louis,” Niall smiles, wiping both his hands on the sides of his skin-tight jeans. “Come in, come in!” he chirps before walking off and disappearing in sight through Harry’s back.

Louis’ gaze shifts towards Harry. Their eyes meeting for a fraction of second before Harry looks away, stepping away from the door. “Uh, come in.” He mutters, holding the door open for Louis.

And Louis tries to feign ignorance—not paying attention to the fact that Harry looks a bit rattled, like he’s completely wrapping his head around the fact that Louis’ here. His eyes were brimming with distrust as he looks everywhere but Louis. He could not blame him though.

“Thanks,” Louis smiles politely, hitching up the single strap of his backpack that hangs loosely over his shoulder. He pulls the rest of his luggages inside through the door, but stops when Harry’s hand—completely accessorised with several rings—pulls it off him. He doesn’t dwell too much on the fact that he’s not wearing the rose one, the same ring he gave him a few years before they broke it off.

Louis also tries to ignore the unsettling sting in his chest.

“Let me just—,” Harry breathes, pulling his luggages in. He doesn’t look at Louis, “You just, go in and uh.. yeah.”

“Alright,” Louis nods, giggling softly. Harry’s always so fidgety, especially in Louis’ presence. It reminds him immediately how he seemed to lose the ability to relax when they first met—especially after he accidentally splashed his pee on Louis’ leg. He only cooled down and started blushing like crazy after Louis reassured him that everything was fine and started throwing unnecessary compliments. T’was still pretty clear in his memory, though.

_‘Kay, shit._ Louis shakes the thought off his head. He doesn’t need to get sentimental at the moment.

He saunters deeper in the room, sighing in relief as he feels a comfortable warmth creeping through his skin. It’s probably the heater. He looks around, only noticing how big the room actually is until his eyes fell on Niall, his back is against Louis.

Louis could suddenly feel a sudden thirst for violence.

“Niall,” He calls harshly, tone dripping with venom. He stands by the table separating him from the kitchen.

Niall, meanwhile, looks over his shoulder at the mention of his name. A smile creeps upon his face. “Hey, Tommo!” he greets happily, fiddling with something on the countertop out of Louis’ line of sight. “Have you eaten something? Harry and I bought takeaways earlier before leaving the airport, so.”

Louis ignores whatever he just said. He might be starving but he’s eaten enough airplane food to contain himself from drooling, thank you very much. He turns back to Harry, making sure he’s out of earshot before strutting towards Niall. “Why is he here?” he hisses, eyes narrowing.

“Hm?” Niall asks, pulling a paper plate from its wrapper before putting a decent amount of food from the Tupperware. He looks up, feigning innocence. “He’s coming with us.”

He says it as if it’s the obvious. Which _actually_ is, honestly. Louis clenches his jaw. 

“No shit, Sherlock.” He sneers, careful not to let Harry hear although he’s pretty sure now he’s also listening. He’s got his ear perched up to their direction. “You lied to me.”

Niall snorts. Handing him a plastic spoon and fork, which Louis accepts mindlessly. “No, I didn’t. I just didn’t tell you the full details.”

“It’s the same!” Louis slams his fist against the counter, immediately regretting it as soon as Harry peers their way. He smiles apologetically at him, although he’s not sure why he needed to. “This is bullshit, Niall. I’m going home.” he whispers as soon as he looks back. 

“Are you?” Niall challenges, because he knows that Louis knows he’s not going anywhere. “Don’t be such a daft, Lou. It’s just a trip. If it makes you feel better, I invited all the lads after you.”

Louis cocks a brow, “I don’t see Liam anywhere?”

This could be less awkward with him here.

“He’s busy, said he’s gonna do some promo for his next single. Heard it though, it’s sick.” Niall shrugs, picking up the plate and walking over to the dinner table. “And Zayn left me on seen.”

“You invited Zayn?”

“Yeah, of course I did.” Niall frowns. The chair squeaks against the tiled floor as he pulls it off its place. He gestures towards the chair across and Louis sits obediently. “It’s been three years, Lou. There shouldn’t be bad blood between any of us.”

“It just surprised me, I guess.” Louis mutters to himself, gripping the utensils in his hand as he drums the other on the table.

Niall stares at him with a knowing smile, “Harry’s the only one available though, as you can see. There’s a few weeks before he starts his North American leg of his tour so,” He glances at Harry over his shoulder. “That right, H?”

Harry blinks at them, DVDs in hand as he stares at the two. He glances at Louis before turning away, “Yeah.”

“See?” Niall grins, “This is just a small trip for the lot of us. It’ll be fun, but if you wanna go, then I’m not stopping you.”

Louis frowns at him.

“I mean,” Niall’s grin widens, his eyes glinting with something Louis could not pinpoint. “If you think you’re not capable to spend a few days with an _ex—_ Louis grimaces, Niall smirks—bandmate, then you don’t have to.” 

And Louis suddenly wants to flip the table and throw Niall off the building. His nose is flaring under his intense gaze, and he suddenly wishes Niall would stub his pinky toe against the table leg. That way, he could feel the same intensity of the pain Louis is feeling right now.

How dare he. How dare he act like it’s okay to use his emotions against him. Sure, Louis is egotistical sometimes and it often puts him into trouble in a few circumstances but that’s not something Niall should use to manipulate him into this— _whatever_ this mess he came up with.

But at the same time, it’s just a trip. It should be fun. He prefers to spend the Holidays with two insufferable twats than rot away at home anyway.

“Fine,” He finally says, shaking off his previous homicidal thoughts. He watches solemnly how Niall breaks into a huge triumphant grin. “I’m pretty sure I’m gonna regret this but fine, I’d rather amuse myself than wank my loneliness away on Christmas anyways.”

“Good decision,” Niall pats his head.

“Don’t touch me,” Louis slaps his hand away, “Insufferable.”

Niall only giggles at that, “Hey, Harry. Found anything good yet?” he calls over Louis’ shoulder.

Louis follows his gaze, watching Harry eject another few cases of DVDs from his navy blue luggage. “I’m not sure the both of you would like any of these,” he laughs nervously, “It’s mostly romcoms.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “What? Still hooked on Nicholas Sparks?” He teases before he realizes what slipped his mouth.

Nicholas Sparks is what often they play on movie nights back when they were still together. Louis always complained about it, often making unnecessary comments whenever they throw cheesy lines and whatnot. Harry would just laugh at him though, feeling the vibrations of his giggles when he’s pulled up against his chest and then Louis would continue pretending like he didn’t enjoy mediocre romance-comedy films just for the sake of it.

Louis subtly pinches his arm to shake off the thoughts.

Harry blinks at him, smiling bashfully. They must have shared the same thoughts. “Yeah,” he answers, looking back down on the cases, inspecting every angle of each like he doesn’t own them.

“We’re watching movies tonight, by the way. Just to, you know, pass time.” Niall explains, but Louis could not let himself pay attention.

His gaze suddenly fixes on Harry. He doesn’t know why, but he could not tell himself to fuck off and mind his own business. It’s always been like that with Harry anyway. Once you look at him, you’d be so gobsmacked you would lose the ability to look away.

 In fact, It’s been a while since he last saw him. Three years, to be exact. Maybe two since Louis’ performance on the X factor last 2016, but they didn’t really caught up too much that time because, well, that was during his mom’s passing. He didn’t bother to think of anything else.

But anyway, it’s a bit too long, so. His hair’s already been cut off from its original length, the same way it was back in 2013. He’s grown buffer too, gaining a few muscles and curves to the right places. It’s not that he hasn’t seen his progress on Twitter though, his pictures are literally all over the internet and Louis is not gonna admit he’s spent hours gaping at it once — or twice, he doesn’t know.

He lets his eyes travel down to his hips, then down to the curves of his ass. Louis bites his lip.

 Harry’s been working out.

 “Lou,” Niall calls, snapping him out of his trance. He looks over at him, watching Niall bite back a laugh. Louis rolls his eyes in annoyance. “You’re not being subtle.” 

“Sod off.” Louis looks away, looking down in a poor attempt to hide the growing heat off his face.

— **H** —

“That was a dick move,” Harry says, leaning back against the bed. He tips his head to chug down a bottle of booze.

Niall turns to him, “What?” His face is illuminated by the reflection from the TV screen.

“Sending him,” Harry throws a look over his shoulder, glancing at Louis who was sprawled against the sheets, completely asleep. Niall and Harry had agreed to share a bed after Louis collapsed and claimed the other. He fell asleep midway the first movie. Harry always knew how boring romcoms were for him. “You shouldn’t have done that,”

Niall scoffs. “You’re acting like I did something dodgy.”

“We’re not in the best terms, Niall.” Harry sighs, eyes glued on the TV screen.

“C’mon, H.” Niall says, shifting in his position and looking to his side. “It’s been three years, that’s enough time to move on.”

Harry doesn’t answer. He stares at the screen, mind flying elsewhere as he takes in Niall’s words. It’s been three years, _three years_ since Louis and Harry decided to go on separate ways. It was a bad end for the both of them, and despite the constant denial, Harry knows it was one of the reasons why he suggested the hiatus. He needed a break—not just from the band, but also from Louis.

“I’m just scared,” Harry mumbles, fiddling with the neck of the half empty bottle.

“Of what?” Niall asks, attention never faltering off him.

“He didn’t look too happy to see me, you know.” Harry licks his lips, “I don’t want to make him feel uncomfortable.”

“You know Louis. He’s just acting like a complete daft from the beginning but he’d manage,” Niall averts his gaze towards the Television, “Plus, I’m tired your sappy asses.”

Harry raises a brow.

Niall rolls his eyes, sipping from his bottle. “It’s not really that pleasant to listen to your mates on the radio whine about each other, you know.”

Harry laughs at that. “I’m pretty sure he doesn’t sing about me though,” He smiles sadly to himself.

Niall blinks at him, like he’s about to hit his head with the bottle in his hand. “Who does he sing about, then? Eleanor?”

Harry cringes at the mention of _her_ name. That’s the last thing he wants to hear, honestly. But according to Louis’ statement, his latest song is about his girlfriend. Whatever. 

“You’re not serious, right? You of all people should now it’s PR.”

He looks at Niall dumbly. He must’ve had said that out loud. “It’s been three years, Niall. A lot can happen.”

“Look,” Niall looks at him like he’s a full grown daft and scratches his head frustratingly, the now-empty bottle hangs loosely between his fingers. “Just take this opportunity, Haz. Honestly. If it doesn’t work out, at least try to settle your feuds. We’d be reforming as a band in a few years time, you wouldn’t want to be all awkward with Louis.”

“It’s not that easy,”

“That’s why I’m doing you a favour and trying to make it less difficult for the both of you since nobody seems to want to make the first fucking move.” Niall rolls his eyes, shuffling in his feet before standing up. “Go to sleep. We’re going on the road early tomorrow.”

Harry watches as Niall pulls off the duvet, his mind still swirling with thoughts.

If this trip somehow works for the both of them, He would be more than grateful. He’s been wishing for a reconciliation ever since Louis walked out of their door, but wasn’t able to do anything until it continued to escalate to something worse.

He looks at Niall suspiciously, watching him throw off his shirt. “You didn’t really invite Liam and Zayn, did you?”

Niall shrugs, climbing onto bed. “Maybe.”

                    — **L** —

“Get up!”

Louis groans, pulling the duvet back over his head before it got pulled completely off from him. “Fuck off, Niall.”

“We need to go as early as possible. Wake up!” Niall insist, slapping Louis on the back. Hard.

“Ow! Jesus Christ!” Louis sits up, his hair was sticking up all over his head. He glares at Niall before lazily grabbing his phone underneath his bed. He checks the time, groaning dramatically when he sees 7:04 a.m. sprawled across the screen. “It’s too early, go away.”

“We need to leave by 8, you idiot.” Niall explains, adjusting the bathroom towel that rests upon his shoulder. “I’m gonna go shower, you eat. Breakfast is served.”

Louis rolls his eyes. He never even wakes up at 10 am, more so 7. He stands up from his bed and walks towards the small kitchen, finding Harry leaning against the countertop, sipping coffee from a small white cup. He’s wearing his rolling stones shirt, still teared up all over the place and his hair is still wet, probably from shower.

And what is he—oh right. He forgot. Harry’s also here with them, it wasn’t a dream.

“Good Morning,” Harry greets, smiling. Both of his dimples popped into view, and Louis tries not to stare at them. “I—uh, cooked us breakfast.”

Louis nods, mumbling a small ‘ _Morning,’_ and ‘ _Thanks,’_ before plopping down the chair.

His eyes rove around the table. Bacon and Eggs. There’s a cup of tea too, already prepared; just waiting for Louis to sip. “You cooked this, right?” He asks Harry dumbly, gesturing towards the plate.

“Yeah,”

“Good.” Louis says, adjusting the hem of his shirt. “I don’t trust Niall’s.”

That elicited a laugh from Harry, and Louis suddenly feels chuffed as he watch him giggle. The dimples appeared on its place again, tempting enough to prod.

The thing is—Louis loves watching Harry laugh, especially if he’s the very reason why he’s laughing. He’s quite sure that he’s more than willing to listen to Harry’s giggles, although obnoxious and weird, all the fucking day—the dimples are just also a huge bonus. He’d love to prod it again and again to bring out a cheeky smile like how he used to do back then.

Honestly, what a fucking sap he’s become.

Harry stares at him, the goofy grin on his face never faltering. It’s too much of a temptation that Louis needed to look away.

He starts eating then, occasionally turning over to look at the television—a clear attempt to avoid Harry’s gaze. He’s not even sure what he’s watching, it’s literally just a bunch of people trying to drop stale jokes here and there. But the stare is growing uncomfortable and tempting. He could still feel it, burning at the back of his head.

Driven by his curiosity, he finally looks at Harry. Their gazes meeting before Harry turns away, cheeks flushed and eyes wide.

Louis laughs to himself.

It’s not like he feels uncomfortable with Harry’s presence, no. That’s literally the last thing to define it—He’ll never feel that way towards Harry.

It’s just a simple act of self respect—Louis snorts—he knows how he feels about Harry, he knows how limited his self-control is to stop from throwing himself to Harry and beg on his knees to take him back. _Christ_ , he’s completely gone for him, and the last thing he wants is complete and utter humiliation. Maybe that’s why he was so upset over Niall’s idea.

He takes a sip from the tea, shaking his thoughts off and frowning as soon he tastes the burning liquid in his tongue. He looks up at Harry, “This is Yorkshire,” He states more than he asks.

Harry smiles timidly, “I brought some with me,”

Louis stops. 

That doesn’t make sense. Harry doesn’t like Yorkshire tea, he more specifically prefers Green. The only time he buys it is when Louis asks—back when they were still together, is the thing. It’s Louis’ favourite.

“Oh,” Was all he could say. He doesn’t dwell on it too much, pushing unnecessary ideas off his head. 

* * *

“You’re fucking with me,”

“I’m not,” Niall says.

“Niall,” Louis sighs, “You’re a bloody Millionaire and you give us this?”

“What’s wrong with it?”

Louis blinks in distrust at the old, rusty pick-up truck. It looks like it’s about to collapse in all honesty, what with the old tires and dirty, uncleaned windows. Rust is slowly forming to its sides, while the paint of its body is washing off, some even tattering. It’s not exactly retro, it’s modern—just shitty.

Niall taps its hood, “It’s good to go, trust me.”

“Are you sure it’s not gonna break down on us?” Harry asks, concern evident in the tone of his voice. Apparently he’s in wary too.

“It’s not,” Niall rolls his eyes, starting to get irritated. He fishes for something from his pockets before throwing it at Harry, who catches it swiftly in his hand. “You drive.”

 

 

So apparently, Niall had only asked Harry to drive to be able to sleep at the back seat. He insisted that he needed to rest because he hasn’t had one since he arrived. Louis and Harry didn’t complain any further, knowing it’s completely futile to argue with Niall.

Harry drives in silence, Louis paying him no mind as he peers through the window. The snow continues to fall from the sky, the roads completely powdered white. The branches of the trees almost bend towards the ground with the heavy load they are carrying. It’s not as cold as it was last night, Louis notices. Nonetheless it’s still winter and it’s still freezing.

It’s been half an hour since they took off from Reykjavik. The truck has been doing fine, it seems, except for small creaking sounds it makes every time they pass through rough roads.

“Where are we going?” Louis asks, breaking the silence. He couldn’t truthfully see anything but patches of snows from afar and trees, then endless roads. He glances at Harry’s phone on the dashboard—GPS tracking wherever the fuck they are.

Harry glances at his phone, seemingly trying to figure out what to respond. “Niall said we’d get groceries first. Golden Circle’s just around the corner too. There’s a, uh, park there I think? We can hike and uh, eat lunch before we hit off to Ring road.”

Louis nods, looking through the windshield. “Are you sure we’re not lost?”

Harry laughs, “Well, not really.”

“You’ve got our lives on the line here, Harold. Make sure we’re going the right way.” Louis smiles teasingly, shifting in his seat and resting his legs upon the dashboard comfortably—like how he usually does.

“I told Niall it’s not a great idea to go here on Winter, it’s dangerous.” Harry says, eyes fixed on the road. “It’s all icy.”

Louis looks to his side, a frown etched on his face. “Are you saying there’s a chance we could die here?”

Harry cackles, his dimples popping into view. “I’ll make sure we’re safe, I promise.”

* * *

 

It’s an hour later when they found a nearby market around the area they were driving through. The place is a bit small, but almost packed with people, most of them looking like foreigners traveling from another country too.

The roads are still covered with powders of snow, making it a little bit hard to drive through. The trees stood tall above them, pines covered with the same patches of white. But amidst them all, Niall is still asleep.

What a _disloyal_ bastard.

Louis looks away from his sleeping form, snickering to himself when he successfully takes a photo of his face with drool running down from his mouth. It’s payback time, he thinks. He’s going to upload this later on Instagram—Their fans would surely love to see this.

Satisfied with himself and his services for world peace, he turns back and hides his phone back to his pocket, watching intently as Harry pulls over at the side. Harry leans against the wheel, looking through the windshield as he turns off the ignition. His brows are furrowed as he eyes the people coming in and out of the store, and It’s not the right time, you see, but Louis needs to admit that _that_ is endearing.

But anyways,

“Do you think they’d recognise us?” Harry asks seriously, glancing at Louis before peering back to the entrance of the store.

Louis follows his gaze. “Just don’t admit you’re Harry Styles and you’re good.”

Harry rolls his eyes, “We did that one time, Lou. It didn’t work.”

Louis smiles to himself. He remembers how they used to go out back then, just before they went so big, people would often ask if they were that band from the X Factor and Louis would jokingly respond with a _“No, Sarah. We’re Lucio and Henry, two best friends hanging out from the beautiful city of London standing five feet apart because we’re not gay.”_  

They didn’t take it seriously though.

“Point taken.” Louis sighs. He looks over to the shop, biting his lower lip then glancing back to Harry. “Alright. C’mere.”

Harry raises an eyebrow but obliged, anyway.

Louis carefully reaches out to the back of Harry’s head, pulling the hood of his winter coat over his hair. He leans closer, brushing Harry’s fringe down to his face, feeling the soft curls slide through the edges of his fingers, he only stops until it covers his forehead completely. He remembers how he used to fix his fringe for him, especially in interviews when it sticks up everywhere too much—they got a little scolding from the management though, but still worth it. He dares to look at Harry’s eyes, glancing away as soon as he realises he’s staring back.

Louis also tries to ignore the odd sensation forming in his gut.

He bit his lip, looking around the car until he reaches over Niall. Louis hastily grabs the glasses off his face—snorting when he sees the small pool of drool by his mouth at the edge of the seat—and carefully, he leans back to slide it through Harry’s face.

He squints his eyes at him, ignoring the way—that _fucking_ way Harry looks at him.

“There you go,” He says, a bit louder to shake Harry off from daze. He leans back to his seat, satisfied with himself. “Nobody will recognise you in those.”

Harry blinks, several times. Like he’s been woken up from long hours of sleep, he peers over at Louis before looking up at the rear-view mirror.

He’s got hair all over his face, pinned by the glasses up his nose. It stops just before his eyes though—which, by the way, Louis’ sure he could feel tickling his eyeballs.

“I don’t look different, Louis.” He frowns, “Plus Niall’s glasses are a bit blurry.”

Louis scoffs, offended. He tried, okay. He tried. “What do you mean you don’t look different? You don’t look like Harry to me so get out of the bloody truck and get my food.”

Harry turns to him, eyebrows raised. “You’re not coming?”

“Nah, stress is bad for the baby.” Louis laughs lightly, scratching his elbow through the thick fabric of his coat.

Harry frowns, “Baby?”

“Me.” Louis states nonchalantly, a huge mocking grin creeps up his face and his eyes are almost reduced to a line. Harry only scoffs, “You better go. At least if you get recognised you won’t be seen with me.”

Louis smiles kindly, crinkles appearing at the corners of his eyes. He blinks nonchalantly, in an old, shitty pick-up truck, as Harry stares back at him—like he’s contemplating whether or not should he move. Louis doesn’t know why.

“Alright,” Harry nods before walking off.

Not to be a sap and pure random but, If only he asked Louis to give up everything just for the sake of them back then, he would. It’s no question that he’s still in love with Harry though, even if the latter doesn’t reciprocate his feelings, and he’s pretty sure that’s not going to change any sooner.

He leans his head lazily against the window, eyes following down the snowflakes peacefully falling from the sky as his thoughts made a whirlwind around him.

Maybe he shouldn’t think too much.

— **H** —

The rest of the drive was frustrating. The roads were icy, and literally most of the places were freezing cold. It got so bad that Harry started questioning if the heater inside the truck is actually working.

For the most part though, the drive was exasperating because of the shitty weather—but to Harry, it was more than that.

All throughout the travel he could personally feel the gaze burning at the side of his head every time Louis looked his way. He doesn’t have a clue what he wants, and he doesn’t bother asking at all because, well, it’s Louis and nobody can read Louis better than himself.

Harry could literally feel the tension rising up between them. Niall was still sleeping at the back that time, all snuggled up with layers and layers of coats that Harry got wary for a minute if he was still breathing, but mostly his concern was the fact that he wants him to wake the fuck up and use his obnoxious self into good use—Harry needed something, someone to distract himself from being completely sappy and self-conscious at Louis’ presence.

He hates it, so instead of wallowing himself in self pity and accepting his fate that Niall has no clear intention of waking up from his _deep, deep_ slumber and get him out of this situation; he turned on the stereo system, cringing when a static sound came alive before two radio hosts started talking.

A few moments and a few songs later, Harry had started sinking to his comfort. He started singing along to songs familiar to him, even as far as hitting _Beyoncé’s_ high notes in If I were a boy (in which Louis groans playfully), and mimicking even Elvis Presley’s voice in _Can’t Help Falling in love with You_. He even thinks he should add that to the tour set list and make a full, proper cover of it. Maybe for the next show, then.

“ _And for the last song this afternoon, we’re going to put on One Direction’s former member, Louis Tomlinson’s latest single. Ever heard of it?”_

Harry’s ears perked up, frowning at the stereo system in betrayal. He only wants peace, clearly he’s not getting any of it. He looks carefully to his side with wide-green eyes, only to find Louis frozen in his seat. He stares at the stereo system blankly, the time and station sprawled in blinking blue lights.

Harry looks away and focuses his gaze on the road. He doesn’t have the slightest idea what to do, should he turn off the stereo? Should he swerve down the lane and ‘accidentally’ hit the pine tree minding its own business at the road side?

The intro started playing, Louis’ high pitched yet raspy voice blasting through the speakers and he could swear he can hear Louis clearing his throat awkwardly.

Okay, so maybe Harry had heard it before. Not that it’s new though—he keeps himself updated with everything happening to the lads, and it’s not because he does it more to lean in the fact that he wants to know what Louis _is_ up to.

So Harry keeps driving, completely ignoring the song blasting in the background as his gaze trails towards the GPS, wherever they’re coming to, he knows they’re near. Hopefully. So maybe Niall can also wake the fuck up and break the ice Louis and Harry can’t seem to do.

_"Now I’m asking my friends how to say “I’m sorry”._ _They say “Lad, give it time, there’s no need to worry”._ _And we can’t even be on the phone now,"_ The loud instrumentals echoes through the speaker attached below their seats. Harry could almost hear Niall's small whine as he shifts on the seat to make himself comfortable. " _And I can’t even be with you alone now._ _Oh, how shit changes, w_ _e were in love, now we’re strangers._ _When I feel it coming up, I just throw it all away,"_

He doesn’t know, Harry really doesn’t-But heat starts crawling through his cheeks because he, kind of, tries not to dwell on too much about the lyrics. _Tries._

“Your single’s sick,” Harry blurts, casually. Or at least he’s trying to sound like it. His intention was clearly to break the tension, not raise it by ten-fucking-fold. “It’s very.. you.”

“Yeah?” Louis looks at him, surprised. Like he’s not really expecting Harry to acknowledge that. “Thanks.”

“Heard you’re working on your album? How’s it?” He smiles.

Again, Harry is not updated on what Louis is doing in his personal life or his career. He’s not, he promises. He’s not even aware that Louis just recently signed to the same management Liam is in. Kind of. 

“It’s done, actually.” Louis says, he doesn’t seem to want to look at Harry in any way. “Just finalising some things,”

“I’d love to hear it,”

“Hear what?”

Harry smiles, “Your album.”

Louis scratches his cheek, and Harry could not help but stare at the two-days worth of unshaved stubble around his chin. He stops himself from reminiscing how it felt against his skin when— _No._ Harry grips the wheel tighter, his knuckles turning white.

Harry remember the bible packed along with his things. He’ll have to read that later. He shakes his thoughts away as he feels heat creeping back to his cheeks.

“I’ll make sure you will,” Louis laughs lightly—and if Harry’s not mistaken, there was a hint of worry mixed along with it. “I’ve heard yours though. It’s sick.”

“Oh,” Was all he could say as the information processes through his mind. Harry should not be even surprised, supporting each other despite the lengthened break is an unspoken rule between the band—like he’s said: he, himself, listens to their stuffs.

But that’s not the point. It’s not that he resents the idea of Louis hearing his studio album but there were literally songs in there screaming how much he misses him and how much he wants him back—and Harry doesn’t want to ask what Louis thinks of them.

Christ, he should have just kept his mouth shut.

“Always knew you had the oddest taste between the five of us, but. It’s brilliant, honestly.” Louis compliments. His eyes crinkles as he smiles fondly.

And he missed this. _Misses_. The fond looks Louis had reserved just for him, the sweet nothings he usually whisper in his ears while they were spooning after sex, the knowing and flirtatious looks they throw at each other during interviews just to try and drive each other to the edge, and this. Little but meaningful talks.

Harry misses _a lot_ of things. But for now, he just have to settle with what little he can have.

* * *

 

“You bought a rod,” Louis states, eyeing distrustfully the item in Harry’s hand. “Why did you buy a fucking rod?”

Harry frowns at him, pulling on his knitted beanie that his mother, Anne, made for him before he left. He holds the fishing rod in his left hand while carrying a little bucket with his right. “I wanna try ice fishing,”

The thing is—Harry had always wanted to try ice fishing after hearing it from Jack, well, Jack from the _Titanic._ He thought it would be fun to try and catch fishes through ice or like, just sit on the edge and freeze your ass while fishing. Must be an experience. He’s also seen it from Ice Age, and he’d put it into his bucket list ever since then.

“Ice fishing?”

“Yeah, I wanna like—fish through holes in the ice on a lake or a river. And there are lots of rivers around here.”

“You’re weird,” Louis deadpans, shaking his head before walking away.

Harry smiles to himself as he supplies them at the back of the truck, putting it in between the luggages before tying back the lid, just in case their stuffs decide to fall off on the road.

They have arrived to their first destination a few hours ago. It’s not boring, not that interesting either but Harry had the chance to fully enchant himself with really, really beautiful vision—his eyes were blessed, he would say. There were waterfalls, lakes and rivers all around the place and they were powdered with snow. It was breathtaking, and Harry had a five minute argument with himself whether he should set up a camp or just build an igloo so he can have his own place in here until, well, Louis decided to join him and ask him if he would straight up die if he jumps from the top of the waterfalls or would just break several bones or his ribs.

Harry didn’t answer though, because he was busy gaping at Louis as he ungracefully flailed his arms around and comically re-enacted what he would look like if he does fall.

Harry smiled. There are really some things more beautiful and more interesting to admire at amidst these gorgeous sceneries.

And then he decided—he hates himself, because he’s a complete sap whenever Louis is around and he also hates his job because he starts making metaphors out of nowhere that he’s sure wouldn’t even sell out as a song.

Ashamed of himself, he wandered around a bit more and separated himself from Louis and Niall—who for some reason, were threatening each other that they would push them off a 200-feet high waterfalls if they don’t prank call Liam or Zayn (Louis preferred both) right now—and went to the souvenir shop, finding anything worthy of his cash which turned out to be the fishing rod and the bucket Louis hissed judgementally at.

And he kind of bought something else, which he kept hidden in his pocket because—well, it’s better hidden although for some reason, it feels so fucking heavy that he wants to throw it off.

But anyway.

He walks towards the driver’s seat, not fully shuffling in but just leaning against the door, arms crossed over the open window. He watches Louis, who’s got his legs thrown over the dashboard, fiddling with something in his phone.

“Where’s Niall?” He asks as soon as he notices the back seat is empty. It also doesn’t have to do anything with his desperate need to strike a conversation with Louis, no.

“Dunno,” Louis shrugs, eyes never leaving the screen of his phone. Harry could not help but peak, and of course. He’s playing. “Probably in the loo,”

“What’re you playing?”

“Games.”

“Oh,” Harry deadpans. He looks towards his side, watching the sky get dimmer as each second pass. It’s getting a little late, he notes. “When do you think will winter end?”

He made it sound casual, he promises. But he couldn’t help realise how cringeworthy it sounded because really, Harry, how’s Louis supposed to know? 

Louis only blinks at him though, staring at his face. His irises are bleeding blue under the little light from the sunset, and Harry could feel a lump forming in his throat. He’s really breathtaking, he almost mewls.

“Alright, Harry.” Louis sighs, turning off his phone and placing it on the cup-holder just below the stereo system. He stretches out his limbs, his hoodie hiking a little too high to expose the skin of his stomach—in which Harry tries not to stare at; tries—before pulling down his feet. He smirks at Harry, “You have my full attention now, what do you want to talk about?”

Harry blushes. He must’ve sounded a little too desperate to strike a conversation. “I was just– I didn’t mean to like, uh, I’m sorry, please go back to playing your games.” He ducks down, flustered.

Louis laughs lightheartedly. “I was just kidding,” he shifts in his seat, a little patch of snow is covering the windshield. “Are we going straight to a Hotel, after this?”

“Yeah.” Harry nods. He’s not a big fan of driving at night, who knows what trouble they might attract? Most especially in this kind of weather. He doesn’t want to hit any reindeers too, he read in an article that they’re so common in Iceland. “I don’t think Niall’s got one reserved though, we’ll be checking in somewhere.”

“Typical,” Louis rolls his eyes. “The daft didn’t even plan this through, I bet.”

“It’s fun though.” Harry chuckles, “We can like, make sudden plans along the way and stay in different kinds of places. That’s the point of this trip. Explore and stuff. Tomorrow, we’d go hiking though. Or maybe I can go ice fishing too.”

Harry imagines himself catching a bucket full of fish for dinner, mentally noting what dishes he would prepare. He only hopes there are nearby places he could buy the ingredients from, though.

Louis stays quiet, only then Harry realises that he’s rambling. He bites his lip bashfully. “Sorry, I got too excited.”

“It’s okay,” Louis giggles. Harry loves that sound. “Are you not getting in? I see Niall’s on his way.”

Harry tilts down his head, watching as Niall walks his way towards the truck. He quickly shuffles inside too, waited for Niall before he started the ignition and drove off.

He stays silent throughout the drive, only listening and laughing along to Niall and Louis’ friendly banter, unaware of the fond looks Louis continuously sent his way.

* * *

 

_Louis doesn’t understand. Maybe the rat in his chest has something to do with the fact that Bella’s about to jump off this cliff for a white vampire dick, and just. It’s stupid. Sure everybody would love Robert Pattinson’s dick, Louis would do the same honestly but how is he going to achieve that sensation if he’s already dead because he’s a full blown knob._

_He sighs, he hates Twilight. And he hates Bella and Edward. The fact that he’s really watching this is disturbing enough, and all he wants is to fucking talk with Harry because who wouldn’t want to talk to a drunk, sixteen year old who’s sobbing over cliché vampire movies at midnight._

_Louis rolls his eyes._

_He tips his own head to chug down his beer, scrunching his nose in disgust as the warm liquid run down his tongue to the pool of his gut. He can’t believe adults hype this shit up, I mean it tastes okay honestly and he’ll surely get used to it but—_

_“Louis,” Harry whimpers, cutting off his inner complaints. He watches as he drag himself up from the floor and collapse beside Louis. His face is beet red and his eyes are glistening with unreleased tears. Louis laughs fondly, at least he’s got his attention._

_“What?” he replies, massaging the little curls at the back of his head. Harry leans in to his touch and snuggles to his chest. Louis can’t help but sigh in content. He loves Harry’s cuddles._

_“Louis, Louissss.” Harry pouts, and Louis’ gaze immediately softens. Harry’s always whiney when he’s drunk, it’s cute. “I like your face.”_

_“Is that a new way to say I want to come on your face?” He jokes. You see, sexual Innuendos and dick jokes aren’t rare in this household. Harry purses his lips, Louis flicks his nose, “Don’t do that, you look like a frog.”_

_“I’m not a frog.” He drawls. “I’m Harry.”_

_“Yeah, of course.” Louis rolls his eyes, shifting his gaze towards the screen. He frowns immediately because now Bella’s running away from something—or someone, Louis doesn’t know. What the fuck even is happening in this film._

_“I wanna blow you.” Harry says out of nowhere. He presses his palm against Louis’ cheek and forced him to look in his direction. He stares at him with half-lidded eyes. “Louissss,”_

_And shit, Louis just forgot how horny Harry gets when he’s drunk—well technically, Harry’s always horny but he gets wilder when he’s got alcohol in system. “Hm?”_  

_He watches amusingly as Harry lazily drags his body off the couch and positions himself in between Louis’ legs. He blinks rapidly at his fly, and Louis jolts as soon as he feels him touching his crotch. “Wanna suck you off,” Harry mutters to himself, mindlessly pulling the waistband of his jeans—which of course, doesn’t work._

_What a knob._

_Louis chuckles, pulling Harry up by the arms. Harry does nothing but whine in protest, mumbling incoherent words as he shuffles to his feet. “You’re drunk, love.” Louis says._

_“No, I’m not.” Harry huffs, eyes drooping sleepily. “Please, Lou. I wanna.. I wanna..”_

_“Nope, nobody’s getting laid tonight. We’ll sleep, okay?” Louis rubs his back soothingly._

_Sure, he’d love a good head right now but the last thing he wants is to take advantage of Harry and his raging hormones whenever he's feeling fuzzy. His mum taught him well, thank you._

_“What about Bella?” Harry cries._

_Louis looks over his shoulder, the film still playing on the Television. He bends down a bit to his side to grab the remote and fiddled with it, smiling triumphantly as the screen fades to black._

_Christ, he’ll never watch that shit again._

 

_The gleam of light shines through the gap of the window blinds. Louis opens his eyes lazily, the sunlight hitting his face which momentarily blinded him. He shuts one eye open, contemplating whether to force himself up as his levels of consciousness slowly rise from nothingness._

_It can’t be morning already, he groans. His gaze falls down, watching fondly as Harry lazily snuggles to his chest. His hair is tousled, chocolate brown and curly locks sticking up everywhere as his little snores echoes through the silence._

_Louis smiles happily, lazily scooping Harry in his arms. He tells himself, as Harry mutters his name in his sleep, that he would never trade anything for this kind of experience—waking up to Harry’s sleepy face, his eyes closed and his eyelashes softly brushing the top of his cheekbones. Harry’s always beautiful, gorgeous even but nothing compares when he’s at peace, where no problems could stress the living lifts out of him._

_Louis slowly traces his fingers along his cheeks, down to the perfect shape of his lips. It’s soft, Louis thinks. Softer than the softest anyone could think of, and he could not think of anything better than to lean down and press a small kiss._

_He closes his eyes for a fraction of second, wanting to freeze time and claim Harry all to himself. He could honestly stay like this forever—if he’s free to choose._

_Harry’s already awake once he opens them again. A small, lazy smile sliding across his face, his dimples popping into his cheeks like it’s tempting Louis to prod them all day._

_Harry presses his face against his chest, snuggling closer and taking a lazy peck on the evident shape of his collarbones. Louis wonders if he could feel or hear his heartbeat._

_“Good Morning,” Louis says, his voice still hoarse from lack of use. He pulls back a little, shuffling the sheets, but their legs remain intertwine to their ankles._

_Harry looks up at him, rubbing his emerald green eyes as he stretches his limbs. He looks at Louis, and they only stare at each other for a few minutes like they’re the only ones existing in the world._  

_Louis doesn’t know what he did to deserve Harry. He could not even believe that his constant act of foolishness has caught him whipped, not like he doesn’t reciprocate the feeling though._

_The first time he’s ever caught him in sight, or the way he frustratedly apologised when he accidentally splashed his pee on his shoe—he already knew he has his heart._

_He snorts, realising how much of a sap he’s become._

_“I’m gonna cook us breakfast,” Harry says, his voice muffled as he buries his face against the pillow. He drags himself up from the bed, his hair sticking up in every direction._

_Louis grins deviously, crawling to the side of the bed. He wraps his arms around Harry’s waist and pulled him back against the sheets. He doesn’t want to get up yet, not in this fine and peaceful morning—or afternoon who cares._

_They both laugh in unison, Harry playfully fighting back as Louis pins him down to bed. He crawls up, looking right through his eyes before pouting, “No morning sex?” he asks._

_Harry smiles, puckering his lips playfully in which Louis leans down to peck. “As much as I’d love for you to put your dick in me in this fine morning, my head is in shambles.” Harry scrunches his nose, “I don’t even want to get up from bed.”_

_“You got yourself wasted last night,” Louis says as-a-matter-of-factly. He continues to trail feathery kisses against Harry’s neck before pulling up. “Let’s not get up, then. Let’s just stay in and cuddle,”_

_Harry snorts, “Yeah, sure. Not like we’re gonna end up snogging a minute later,”_

_Which is not a lie. Their innocent spooning often ends up with them making out, and then in a blink of an eye they’d be having sex. It’s funny, they seem so irresistible to each other._

_“Want me to give you head, instead?” Louis offers, smiling playfully._

_Harry rolls his eyes good-naturedly, but doesn’t make further complaints when Louis starts trailing light kisses on his torso down to the exposed skin before the waistband of his pants._

_Louis sighs happily, he wouldn’t really trade anything for moments like this._

— **L** —

The trip has been so frustrating so far—maybe not the whole thing since Louis enjoys most of the views and places they’re visiting (and the food is brilliant)—but maybe the fact that Louis has to tolerate and pretend that it’s okay, like really okay to be near Harry Styles.

Not that he wants to force Harry to like, fly back to London and stuff. Louis thinks they have successfully disregarded the tension so far, and he’s kind of grateful he’s got the talent to kill the elephant off the room. He’s managed to make it less awkward for the both of them, but the tension (a different kind of tension, Louis notes) is always there.

They’ve been in the trip for four days now. So far they’ve visited a lot of places Louis didn’t bother remembering the names. He’s here for the fun and experience anyway, not to educate himself about well, historical places or such.

The three of them are having fun, it’s safe to say. Niall almost fell from a mountain while they were hiking and Louis had to walk silly so he can avoid falling face flat in the snow (He looked like a penguin, according to Harry).

But maybe the best memory of them all is when Harry went out of the bath one time, naked and dripping wet. He might have been unaware that Louis was waiting inside the room, assuming that he and Niall went out to buy take aways.

So he froze as soon as their gazes met and then came the endless stuttering before jolting back to the bathroom. Louis had to had a heart to heart talk with his dick that night to calm the fuck down because he refuses to wank knowing Harry and Niall were there.

Jesus, at least a Harry had learnt his lesson to keep his bloody clothes on every-fucking-where.

They didn’t talk about it, Louis not wanting to embarrass Harry and Harry not looking at him straight in the eye. He swore he saw his ears burning though. Poor boy.

“Uh,” Louis throws his phone against the mattress. He just called Lottie, making sure she and their other siblings are okay. He’s received a few mockery and teasing from her though, apparently someone has spotted him and Harry together and posted it on Twitter and Lottie just can’t seem to drop the topic. So now, he kind of needs to prepare for another shit ton of damage control once he gets back home. Exciting.

His gaze trails off towards the TV screen, groaning and rolling his eyes dramatically as the face of Kristen Stewart pops into the screen. It’s Twilight. Fucking hell. 

He crawls towards the edge of the bed and swiftly grabs the remote control to turn the TV off. He huffs as soon as the screen fades to black.

“Niall,” He calls, rolling onto his back. Niall made a reservation days before the actual trip for a cottage around Ring Road. They arrived last night, and all agreed to stay over for another day (Niall whining that he needs beauty rest). Just a short break before they drive off again tomorrow morning.

He jumps off the bed and makes his way out his room. Luckily, the place has two rooms. Harry and Niall agreed to share the master’s while Louis claimed the guest’s (“I need my privacy, thank you very much.”) it’s smaller anyway.

He saunters towards Niall and Harry’s room, pushing the door open and sighing when he sees Niall snoring beneath the sheets.

“Lazy oaf,” he speaks. 

Realising that he’s got nothing or nobody to pour his boredom to, he lazily walks to the kitchen. One thing he loves about this place is the kitchen, there’s even food before they arrived; but they refused to eat it just in case all of them are expired (Niall thought otherwise). You never know.

He plops himself against the small couch, watching as snowflakes fell straight from the sky. The weather’s still freezing as ever, but it’s become more tolerable now that Louis is getting used to it. Plus, they got a heater. And a fireplace.

He sighs in content. This place is cozy—the whole trip is. He gets to spend quality time with people important to him (minus Liam and Zayn who refused to answer their FaceTime calls) and he gets to run away from the problems building up in the industry—in his career.

It’s a relief he gets to have fun for a short while, what with the constant feeling of annoyance whenever the paps are around or when he’s stunting, or how he needs to act like he’s genuinely interested in Eleanor. He’s tired. And he’s thankful he didn’t hesitate to accompany Niall, although he’s still a dick for bringing along Harry.

Harry.

He gets to spend time with Harry after three years of constant avoidance. It might’ve been a surprise but truthfully, he’s still kind of happy that Niall’s nosy ass had to fuck them all over. God bless him.

Maybe the only downside of this situation is the fact that he’s not meant for his feelings to come back washing over him. Louis hates it. Louis hates that he’s still nothing but a huge fucking sap for Harry Styles, and he’s not planning to let him know any shit about that sooner. 

He tips back his head, his arms spread and resting against the backrest. He stares up curiously at the cobwebs forming on the corners of the ceiling. A silly attempt to entertain himself. He better start counting them too. And he’s about to that, for the sake of amusement, but suddenly, he’s not alone.

“Hey,” Harry greets, plopping himself in the chair adjacent to the couch.

“Hi,” Louis mutters weakly, eyes still trained up the ceiling.

Harry leans forward, placing down a small cup of what seems like hot chocolate on the coffee table. “How are you?”

Louis tilts his head to the side, fixing his eyes on Harry. His nose is red against his pale skin from the cold. “Bored.” He deadpans.

Harry shrugs. He musters a small ‘same’ before they let a comfortable silence spread across the room.

Louis doesn’t speak for another minute—letting the deafening silence accompany them through the cold. It was quiet, until Harry speaks.

“Do you want to–“ Harry says, gaze shifting towards the window then back to Louis, but stops as fast as he started.

Louis blinks at him, “Continue the thought.”

Harry shakes his head, “Never mind.”

“Harry,” Louis mutters, cocking an eyebrow. “Do I want to what?”

Harry refuses to look at him at first, but when he musters the courage to peer over at him, his cheeks are already reddening in embarrassment. “Do you, like, uh, want to build a snowman?”

Silence. 

Louis cackles loudly. “Who the fuck are you, Anna?”

Harry’s cheeks went darker, “Well I thought it would be fun. Plus, you said you were bored so I just,” He sighs, shuffling to get up to his feet. “You know, just, forget I suggested that.”

Louis doesn’t want to, is the thing.

“Harry,” He calls. Harry stops and looks at him grumpily. Like a child. “Just let me get my coat and stuff. It’ll be freezing outside.” He says in between laughs, jumping up from the couch and sauntering back towards his room.

He doesn’t miss the childish smile Harry gives him.

So they ended up building not just a snowman, but snowmen. Harry insisted they build a snow family, but Louis immediately argued and said ‘We need to break tradition, Harold. We are going to build the lads.” 

And they did. Kind of. So far they’ve built Niall and Zayn (They badly drew a ying-yang on top of Zayn’s forehead to clearly indicate that yes, that’s Zayn Malik), they were halfway into building Liam when Louis interrupts Harry.

“Who’s this?” He asks, frowning down at the small stacks of snow beside Zayn. It has a moustache drawn under its nose (which is a small bent stick). “Never knew Olaf’s in the band.”

Harry glances at him, biting down a smirk before adding, “That’s you.”

_Excuse-fucking-me_.

“I’m not 3-feet high, Harold.” He deadpans, blinking at Harry.

Harry was always so smug when it comes to their height difference, often he would put on some necessities on the very top of a tall shelf just to amuse himself and watch Louis tip on his toes to reach it. He’s evil, Louis would always accuse.

Harry snorts, prodding a stick to Liam’s side before smiling cheekily at Louis. “Aren’t you?”

Louis is tall enough, thank you very much, he doesn’t need this slander. “I’m 5’9””

Harry stares at him, a challenging smirk sliding across his face, “Sure.”

“I did not accompany you to build snow people in this freezing weather just for you to slander my height,” Louis hisses, before he leans over to grab a small pile of snow from the ground and aggressively shapes it large enough between his palms.

Then he throws it to Harry’s face.

“What–“ Harry gasps as he falls on his ass.

Louis smirks down at him triumphantly, chin up and hands on waist as he mentally pats himself of his excellence. Then, Harry’s already up on his feet in the blink of an eye—and Louis’ smile falls and he realises. _Fuck_.

“Shit,” He curses. He immediately turns around and runs, laughing heartily as his legs get buried down the snow—every step he takes making a crunching sound as he jogs further—the sounds of Harry’s steps echoing behind him and he tries, in all his 5’6” glory, to run away from Harry’s long limbs. And honestly, who allowed him to grow this fucking long. “Go away, what the fuck, what the fuck!”

Louis continues, but realises how big of a mistake it is as soon as he peers over his shoulder, his eyes widening as Harry catches up and tackles him to the ground. Louis lets out a tiny squeal as they collapse against the soft freezing floor, powdered with the same white snow that falls twirling and swirling undisturbed from the sky.

They both laugh in unison, their faces both covered with powders of snow—and it’s only a minute later that they calm down and just stare at each other’s eyes intently.

Louis doesn’t know why, or how to describe the feeling. It feels like the world has suddenly stopped for the two of them, like it’s just him and Harry existing in the surface of the earth. His eyes against Harry’s, his irises bleeding with the same pool of emerald green that Louis loved—loves—to drown into.

They don’t talk or move, they remain still for what seems like hours. Louis is almost losing his breath, not because of the fact that Harry’s weight is too much for him to carry on top (he’s a tank, c’mon)—but because Harry’s simply breathtaking. Louis watches intently, eyes following the snowflake that falls on the tip of Harry’s nose, tickling him and tempting him to stick out his tongue and have a taste.

Louis giggles fondly, eyes reducing to a thin line as he reaches up and flicks Harry’s nose.

Harry smiles at him, chuckling lightly. His gaze are trailing from Louis’ eyes down to his lips. And it stays there, never moving.

Louis doesn’t fail to notice the action nonetheless he doesn’t resist this time. He reaches up his hand and gently presses the tip of his finger on the deepness of Harry’s dimples, his grin widening.

They stay like that for a couple of minutes, watching the snowflakes fall down to the redness of their cheeks. They don’t move, mindless of everything around them.

“Is this okay?” Harry asks, smiling bashfully. 

Louis snorts, “Of course not, you’re crushing my ribs.”

“Oh,” Harry blinks. He pushes himself off Louis and rolls to his side with a small _huff._  

Louis almost, _almost_ whines at the loss of contact. He turns his head to his side, sneaking a glance towards Harry who’s already blinking at him curiously.

They don’t move, and Louis grabs the opportunity to admire Harry—the little things about his face; every inch of it which Louis still has plastered in his mind. He reverts back to when they first met; his green eyes were wide in enchantment, like everything about this world amazes him. His curly locks wilding in every direction, and his energy only radiated happiness, innocence and love.

Louis stares at him with a severe little crinkle between his eyebrows as realization hits him. He tears his gaze away from Harry’s, his heart almost jumping off from his chest that he could hear its untamed beating. And if he could feel that familiar sensation pooling in his gut like a wildfire begging to be freed, he tries his best not to show it.

Maybe Louis only feels like he’s eighteen again.

 


	2. II.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry stands frozen now, the same tears rolling down his cheeks. “Louis..” he mutters weakly.
> 
> “I can’t be friends with you knowing that I’d end up hurting myself more than I’m doing so.”
> 
> So Louis leaves.

 

"We can also go swimming after,” Niall offers with a hopeful smile. 

“For the umpteenth time, Niall, we can’t go swimming. It’s so bloody cold!” Harry scolds.

Niall only scoffs, crossing his arms above his chest before sinking against his leather seat. Harry only rolls his eyes at how childish he could be sometimes. “Sorry,” he snorts, “Forgot how much of a pussy Mr. Styles is.”

“I’m not a coward. I just don’t want to catch a bad cold before I go on the road again,” Harry sighs. “And don’t say the p-word.”

He ignores the confused look Louis gives him from the passenger seat and focuses his gaze towards the road.

“Are you serious?” Niall laughs obnoxiously, eyebrows raising up in amusement. “Do you remember when the management called you out when you said ‘pussy’ though?”

Harry’s frown deepens, his cheeks tainting pink as he swerves to the side of the road. “I was young,"

“You literally suck dick, what the fuck are you being so embarrassed about?” Niall bursts into a laughing pit, and Harry could immediately feel the heat rising to his cheeks. He swears he wants to strangle Niall to death sometimes, and that sometimes happens to be times like this.

“That’s inappropriate,” Harry drawls, and he could see Louis shift in his seat uncomfortably through his peripheral vision. He clears his throat, eyeing the GPRS with sudden interest before his mind travels to unnecessary things that he shouldn’t even be keeping at the back of his mind. He hates himself sometimes.

 “We’re near.”

“Yeah?” Niall widens his eyes in wander, sitting up and peering through the windshield. “Fuck, yeah. I’ve never gone bungee jumping before. 

Louis’ ears perk up, “Bungee what?” he mumbles, a horrified expression written all over his face.

Niall rolls his eyes. “Tommo, your ignorance will get you in trouble someday.” he sighs, “Bungee jumping, it’s this thing where you jump off a cli–“

“I know what bungee jumping is, Niall, I’m not daft.” Louis squirms, “It’s just– I don’t like it.”

“It’s not like you’re gonna die in there or summat, calm down.”

“I’m not scared to die, I’m scared of heights if that’s still unclear to you, knob.” Louis snaps, and Harry watches as he struggles to hit Niall on the face, his seatbelt pulling him back 

And, _oh. Right._ Louis _is_ not exactly fond of heights. He remembers how he used to whine helplessly whenever their stage rolls up to the top of the arena during their second world tour. Louis made him sleep on the couch one time when Harry teased him about it though. Not a fond memory, he could still feel his back aching from that old shitty couch on the hotel room.

“We can just go swimming if you’d like,” Harry speaks, ignoring the soft gasp from behind (fucking Niall). His voice softens as he looks over to his side, but he quickly averts his gaze back on the road as soon as Louis frowns at him 

That was not the reaction he was aiming to get.

“It’s winter.” Louis mumbles, shifting in his seat 

Harry swallows the lump forming in his throat. “And?" 

Louis laughs, “You’d catch a cold.”

“It’s not going to kill me now, is it?” Harry smiles, eyes fixed on the road. 

Louis stares at him for a couple of seconds, his face already reddening from embarrassment—suddenly feeling a twinge of self-consciousness, and although Harry’s perfectly aware how fucking gorgeous he is, it’s Louis Tomlinson we’re talking about here, so.

Niall snickers.

“Alright, then.” Louis shrugs nonchalantly, but the grin on his face does not go unnoticed by Harry as he proceeds to look out the window.

“Do I not have a say to this?” Niall asks, sinking back to his seat.

“Nope,” Harry says, popping the ‘p’ as he smiles happily.

 

* * *

 

_It was a quiet night. Trees were dancing as the wind forced them to sway, the stars illuminated the dark blue sky altogether with the bright light of the moon, and the chilly breeze continued to touch Harry’s pale white skin—sending unexpected shivers down his spine._

_He shifted comfortably across the mattress he’d thrown over the floor, legs crossed beneath him while facing the large glass wall as the moonlight washes over his form._

_Harry felt peaceful, relaxed and safe—like he’d never felt like it before. He felt at ease, calm with every breath he took. He would not exchange moments like this for anything else, a time all for himself. And as he let his thoughts wander around for long, a small smile slowly crept upon his face as he heard the door click—the sound of footsteps matching the sudden jump of his heartbeat, and it was coming nearer, and nearer; a full grin now painted on his face, dimples carved perfectly in both sides of his cheeks. He turned._

_“Hey,” Louis said softly, his irises bleeding blue under the light of the moon—And Harry tried not to gape, not to stare for long but ended up feeling a bit breathless nonetheless; because Louis, Louis fucking Tomlinson was so beautiful and Harry would love to remind him that every single day._

_Harry didn’t make a move as he watched Louis slide beside him, feeling his skin warm up as he shuffled closer, their arms barely touching—sending odd tingles down the pit of Harry’s stomach._

_“I thought you wouldn’t come,” Harry mumbled quietly, hugging his knees closer to his chest._

_Louis snorted, throwing off his jacket. “This is where I live, Harry, just in case you’ve forgotten.” He paused, turning his head and looking at him straight in the eyes. “Were you waiting for me?"_

_Harry shrugged, heat suddenly crawling up his cheeks. He was thankful that it was a bit dim, Louis would’ve mocked him to death if he ever sees. “It took you so long,”_

_“That’s so domestic,” Louis chuckled, adjusting his fringe that fell over his eyes. “I’m sorry, love, thought you’d arrive around nine so I stayed over at Zayn’s a little bit more.”_

_“‘S okay, I just got back. Mum said ‘Hi’ by the way.”_

_Louis nodded, laying on his back. He crossed his arms over his head and stared up at the sky, and Harry couldn’t do anything but sit there and admire him._

_Weekends often end up like this; what with the constant fooling around and tweeting when they’re literally sitting right next to each other or maybe the subtle glances they share whenever they cuddle up on the couch—it’s a Louis and Harry kind of thing. Moments that only the two of them share, moments that Harry would treasure forever._

_“So what did you wanna talk about?” Louis finally asked, eyebrows cocked as he stared up at him with curious blue eyes_

_And Harry, Harry shouldn’t be so nervous all so suddenly. He’d already looked like a complete twat and recited his line over and over again right in front of the mirror, even risked humiliating himself when he asked Anne and Gemma for help. Maybe it wasn’t too late to back out._

_“Harry?"_

_Or maybe not._

_“Yeah,” Harry muttered weakly, fiddling with the loose thread on the hem of his shirt. “I wanna tell you something.”_

_“What is it?” Louis asked, sitting up and balancing himself with his arms propping him up. “What’s up?”_

_“I – I kind of,” Harry stammered, suddenly he didn’t know where to start and his mind went blank. He frowned, “I – I can’t,”_

_Louis blinked at him, reaching towards Harry’s hand before he smiled. “Hey, you can talk to me.”_

_That was all the comfort Harry needed. It was always like that, Louis making him feel like everything was going to be okay with just a simple glance or smile directed towards his way, Harry’s worries would be washed away, and Louis knew he had that effect on him._

_“So, uhm,” Harry drawled, stammering uncomfortably under Louis’ gaze. “I – I like someone, Lou.”_

_There was a moment of silence between the two of them, but Harry could feel Louis’ intense gaze burning a hole at the side of his face. “Lou?”_

_“Oh,” Louis smiled, his eyes suddenly lighting up in excitement. “Who’s the lucky person?” He asked with a hint of mockery._

_“Well,” Harry breathed. He wasn’t entirely sure he could do this at all. “You know him,” he says slowly._

_“Him.” Louis nodded, the other side of his lip turning upward into a smirk. “Can you describe him for me, love? Let me give a quick guess.”_

_Harry blushed but obliged anyway. “He’s–He’s nice. Uh, funny and all. He always makes me laugh, makes me smile. But sometimes he’s so fucking annoying I just, I just want to punch his nose off his head.”_

_Louis cackled, throwing his head back, “He sounds hot.”_

_“He is hot,” Harry grinned, leaning in closer. His eyes trailed down from Louis’ eyes to his sinfully pink lips. He wasn’t sure where his sudden confidence came from, but he wasn’t an idiot not to take advantage of it. He wondered if Louis had taken the hint. “Really fucking hot, but like I would lean more to the fact that he’s just.. pretty.”_

_“Hm,” Louis smirked, “Is he a friend of yours?”_

_Harry didn’t hesitate. “Yes, my best friend."_

_Louis’ cheeks started to redden, although Harry could not actually confirm it himself due to the lack of lighting. “Someone you know at home?”_

_“No,” Harry stared down at Louis as he bit his lip in wonder, “But– But he’s... he’s home.”_

_Louis blinked._

_“That was so fucking bad, Harold. I’m getting second-hand embarrassment.” Harry could not help but feel the familiar odd sensation at the pit of his stomach, having no time to actually feel embarrassed by his own words. He loved Louis’ laugh. “We’re not doing any progress here but, is he one of the boys?”_

_Harry paused, suddenly rethinking his life decisions in a matter of seconds. He suddenly felt shy, but for some reason he wasn’t regretting every single word he uttered. He nodded hesitantly._

_“Sounds alright,” Louis grinned, pulling away from. Harry tried to mask his disappointment with a small smile because of course, Louis chose all this time to be a bloody daft. “You should ask him out, unless it’s Niall. Niall’s a prat, you know. And Zayn is.. Well, Zayn. Liam wouldn’t actually reject you though, but he’s straight so that’d be just tragic.”_

_He frowned, “Liam shagged Zayn, ‘ya know.”_

_Louis cocked an eyebrow, “You can’t be saying things like that, young Harold, you are only sixteen.”_

_There was a sudden pang in Harry’s chest that he could not pinpoint._

_“So what if I’m only sixteen?” Harry huffed. “I’ll have to let you know that I can perfectly ride your dick and make you come twenty-eight fucking times right now!”_

_There was only silence after that. The air was almost thick with an unbearable tension and Harry, Harry’s whole face has gotten redder than the actual colour itself, his heartbeat was racing so damn loud through his chest because, he could not really believe he just said that. He couldn’t believe he just messed his life up by threatening to shove his friend’s dick up his ass to prove something so bloody pointless._

_He wish nothing but to get kicked off towards Venus right fucking now._

_So, trying to at least regain the only dignity he has left in the only way he could actually think of—he started to shift uncomfortably in his position before pressing down his feet against the mattress; readying himself to leave, only for Louis to grab his arm back and force him down._

_Harry flushed at the contact, staring down wide-eyed at where Louis’ hand connect to his arm. He could feel chills running down his spine, and he was quite sure it wasn’t usually this intense._

_Louis spoke. “Y-You know,” he stammered, and Harry could swear he could see his face turning beet red under the dim light. “You’d have to, erm, ask me out first before we like, go there.”_  

_“What?” He asked, dumbfounded._

_Louis only sent him a look, “You heard me.”_

_Harry bit his lip nervously in wander, eyes only fixed against Louis’. He stared back at him with the same intensity, with an obvious glint of challenge that Louis knew he wouldn’t back down from._

_“Louis,” Harry breathed, heart pacing through his chest in an obvious manner. “Ireallylikeyousocanyoupleasegivemeachanceandgooutonadatewithme?”_

_“What was that?” Louis looked at him, smile wide; any hint of timidity suddenly washed away with the replacement of a smug look. “Jesus, That was the fastest I’ve heard you talk. Slow the fuck down, Harry.”_

_“Stop making this hard for me,” Harry whined because of course he didn’t hear it, he didn’t fucking hear it—Louis only gave him a bored look. He sighed, “Louis, I said–I said..I..Ireallylikeyou..”_

_“Sorry?” Louis whispered nonchalantly, feigning innocence._

_“Louis,” Harry whined helplessly, puckering his lower lip._

_Louis rolled his eyes, and the next thing Harry could remember was the feeling of Louis’ lips against his—and he tasted like a combination of tea, and something Harry could not decipher, but he loved it._

_He could feel the sparks travelling all over his body as he savoured the kiss. And it was innocent, butterflies wilding out in his gut as he took note of every second and millisecond that passed by as they pulled away from each other, catching their own breath. He wished that it didn’t end, because it’s Louis, and he could sacrifice a whole portion of his life feeling his warmth against him._

_Louis rested his forehead against Harry’s, the smile on their faces mirroring each other’s and Louis dived in with another peck. Harry could only grin, biting his lip timidly. “Is that.. is that a yes?”_

_“What do you fucking think?” Louis rolled his eyes as he pulled away, shuffling in his feet as he stood. “I need a bath, I stink.”_

_Harry laughed obnoxiously, watching Louis’ retreating back before he slammed his door closed. He sat there alone for a couple of minutes, grinning to himself and his heart beating so fast that it could feel it jumping against his rib cage._

_All because Louis felt the same._

_Suddenly, the door swayed open, Louis’ head poked out and his hair was suddenly tousled, a frown was etched on his face—like it was permanent, upset. “Were you just talking shit earlier or does that offer still stands?”_

_Harry bit his lip, failing to suppress a triumphant grin._

_Never had he jumped so fast and ran._

**_—_ ** **L** **_—_ ** _  
_

“This is insane,” Louis mutters under his breath, crossing his arms and rubbing them down in a desperate attempt to warm himself up. “Is this even safe?”

“It is,” The man in uniform, Chris, smiles politely. He’s some sort of a lifeguard, or something. Louis doesn’t fucking know.

“And I’m not gonna die of Hypothermia?” Louis asks seriously, because the last thing he wants right now is to die soaked under freezing water because Niall thought it would be a great dumb idea. 

“No,” Chris chuckles, adjusting the hem of his coat. “You’d need to be under freezing water for a full thirty minutes before that happens. And anyway, we got heaters around the pool so it wouldn’t really be that bad.”

 _Not that bad._ Louis scoffs. See, it’s practically freezing this season, and Louis could not actually figure out why everybody’s stripped down to their underwear and literally, _literally_ dipping their whole body through freezing water that could possibly lead to fucking hypothermia.

The entire place is almost covered in ice, spreading all throughout the edges of pool, except for the actual water itself that still has clear, _blue_ water that’s far too inviting in Louis’ opinion. It looks safe, almost, considering that a few people were already enjoying themselves, some just relaxed and still. 

But it still sends horrible tingles down his spine as he imagines himself dipping into it, because everybody fucking knows how Louis gets easily cold in chilly weathers, he announced it on national television, christ. What more in something literally.. _frozen?_

“Hey,” Harry smiles, putting a comforting hand over his shoulder. “It’s alright if you don’t wanna go, we could— _you_ could stay back at the suite.”

Louis appreciates the kindness. Harry’s always been so considerate of him and how he feels, generally he’s just a ball of fucking sunshine. He’d like to take the offer by the way, and he’s not going to let another chance of a _Louis Time_ pass.

“Yeah,” he nods, sighing as he stares at Niall who’s limping towards the pool, wearing only his fucking unicorn pants for the whole world to see. What a fool. He turns towards Harry, tired of dealing with Niall’s shit, he smiles at him appreciatively. “‘M gonna take a nap, so tired.”

 Harry only stares at him, eyes assessing every inch of his face with that goofy grin plastered over his mouth. It’s endearing and weird at the same time. It takes a brief moment of silence before he nods, “You do that. I’d go look out for Niall. You know how he can be sometimes.”

 Louis nods, quickly moving back up to the hotel in a rush. His back aches, and he fucking stinks—at least he thinks he is, so the first thing he does as he enters the room is go straight to the en suite. He needs a shower. A fucking shower with warm water that can prick his skin a fuck ton of times. Yes, that.

He strips down to his clothes, putting them aside as he steps in the tub, sighing happily as he feels the warm water rush down his skin once he turned the switch.

It’s relaxing—calming even. It feels like it has been a thousand years since Louis has this time all for himself. More often than not he’s always preoccupied with dealing Niall’s shit or just listening to him mumble whatever stuffs that would cross his mind, and he does love Niall, sure, but no offense;the lad radiates too much positive energy and it’s itching through Louis’ skin. He can’t even make a single love with Niall making a comment on it.

Exhausting, really.

And then there’s Harry.

Harry, his ex-boyfriend. The love of his fucking life, the one person he can’t ever move on from to. It’s frustrating to be around him almost every hour of the day, he can’t help but stare at him with obvious heart eyes that’s probably too creepy if a bystander would see, or just smile like an idiot to himself at how adorable Harry is or just laugh at the fact that he’s a walking shit post who bumps on everything—which is oddly endearing, okay. Harry is endearing. And cute. And Handsome. Perfect. Sexy, with his wild curly locks and lanky form, and the dimples, and those sinfully pink lips and—And _oh_.

And _fucking_ Oh.

He’s hard.

Louis only groans pitifully; staring down at his half-hard cock, red and big and just begging for his god damn attention because it’s been days, _days_ since he’d got a proper wank. 

Louis knows he needs it, he just do. And there’s nothing wrong about that. Because he’s pathetic, always getting worked up by the simple thought of Harry Styles and his never ending legs—seriously who thought it’d be a great idea to make him this lanky—knelt down right in front of Louis’ crotch and blinking up at him with his big doe eyes filled with anticipation. 

His cock twitches with interest.

Louis sighs, running his hands over his face before taking a hold of his cock, his breath hitching as he pumps himself slowly into full hardness—thumb playing with his slit and spreading pre-come all over the base.

He groans lowly, fucking into his fist and feeling himself get on fire amidst the continuous fall of the warm water over his burning skin. His thoughts traveled elsewhere, somewhere he’d locked up at the back of his mind for years and never dared open again. 

Until today.

He couldn’t think properly, no. Not when his mind could only say _HarryHarryHarry_ over and over again. He pumped his cock faster, biting his lip as he opens his eyes and casts his glance down his working hand, imagining Harry kneeling down in front of him, bow-shaped lips wrapped around his cock as he takes him all in mercilessly.

It’s wrong, he knows. This is all so fucking wrong; getting off to the thought of your ex-boyfriend who probably doesn’t give a shit about you anymore, and flooding your thoughts with inappropriate things you’ve done with him before—which, Louis can’t deny is still hot in his opinion—and just, it’s wrong.

But still, it doesn’t stop him from pleasuring himself.

“Fuck,” He rasps. Louis could feel himself getting nearer. The burning sensation in the pit of his stomach continues to rise in flames as he jerks himself harder, not bothering to suppress the sinful groans of pleasure coming out of his mouth as he visions Harry, sucking him in, taking everything he can, his eyes blinking away tears as he bobs his head to encourage him to come. 

And Louis obliges. He screams his name, _‘Arry,_ spurting out a line of come to his fist. He could see stars, panting and catching up to his breath, but still, still _he didn’t miss the loud sound of the door slamming closed._

And Louis knows. 

He did not only fuck himself, _He_ also fucked up.

* * *

 

Okay so he did fuck up. 

He couldn’t actually make a quick assumption if _that_ was only in his imagination—but for God’s sake, Louis knows he’s not deaf, he can clearly hear shit and he’s pretty sure he’s heard the door slam closed after fucking himself inside the en suite.

And if he ever did assumed it right, hopefully it wasn’t Harry Styles who closed the said door. 

Which he’s gonna tear off from its hinges because Harry can’t look at him straight in the eye for some bloody reason.

He’s tried to avoid to talk to him all day, gets all flustered up when Louis stands mere feet away, and stutters uncontrollably when he talks, _tries_ to talk to Louis.

And Louis shouldn’t even be hesitating to make a sodding conclusion because he knows, he fucking knows Harry heard him scream his name while he pitifully jerked himself off.

Just—Just fuck.

“I hate all of you,” Liam’s voice booms through loud speaker, his thick brows etched down into a frown as he glares at them through the screen.

“Hello to you too, Liam. What’s up?” Niall says, balancing his phone between his fingers and thumb while he munched on a sandwich.

Liam sighs, “Tired. Wish I could relax, will be doing lots’a promo for the EP release next week.”

Louis flops to the bed next to Niall, completely ignoring Harry who tenses up behind him. “Hey Payno,” he muses, snatching the sandwich off Niall’s mouth, causing him to receive a hard punch in the arm, which—Ow. 

“Hey, Louis!” Liam greets happily, “You havin’ fun there, mate?”

Louis rolls his eyes, “It’s hard dealing with these two. Where the fuck is _daddy_ direction when you need him?” (“What are you? Stuck in 2012?” Niall muses.)

Liam glares at him, “You knobs didn’t invite me in the first place, sod off.”

Louis blinks, and slowly, his head turns to Niall who’s smiling at him nervously. He cocks a brow, “You said you invited both Liam and Zayn.”

“I.. may or may not have made that up..”

“What? Where’s Zayn?”

Niall and Liam says in unison.

Louis grits his teeth, “You fucking Liar, so you really set me up in here.” he hisses, voice dropping in venom, suddenly feeling a strong hint of thirst for Irish blood.

Niall laughs, “That may or may not be the plan too.”

Louis glares at him, harder, trying to look as menacing as possible (which is probably failing judging by the way Niall is suppressing his laugh, but still.) He turns to his back, watching in betrayal as Harry squirms uncomfortably under his gaze. 

“I didn’t know anything about this,” Harry says quietly, averting his gaze back to the TV screen.

So it’s just Niall then.

He’s about to lunge at him, wrestle him maybe, just—just satisfy himself until Niall apologizes or something.

“Hey, lads.” A familiar voice joins them through the call, the three of them freezing up as Niall picks up the phone.

And like, _oh fuck._

“Zayn,” Louis smiles, eyes lightening up as the camera shuffled a little before focusing back on Zayn’s face.

“Hi,” he says, voice calm but a little nervous. “Sorry, did I interrupt something? Liam called me and I just though—“

Niall snorts, “None of that, lad, none of that. How have ‘ya been? Heard you’re working on your album? When’s it releasing? Fuck, I’ve heard Dusk Til Dawn? It’s fucking brilliant, mate!” 

Zayn eases up, a gentle smile forming across his lips. “Yeah. Heard yours and Harry’s though, it’s sick.”

Louis can’t help the suddenly pang in his chest. Not that he’s never talked to Zayn after their little misunderstanding three years before, but it was never the same as they were back in the band.

 “You little shit,” so he says as he snatches the phone from Niall’s hand. Zayn looks a bit surprised, biting his lip to suppress a huge grin. “I told you to fucking call me sometimes so we can hang, you’re changing your number to avoid me, don’t you?” 

Zayn cackles, “I’m not, I swear. Ask Liam, we been texting.”

Niall gasps, pulling the phone, offense written all over his face. “I feel betrayed!”

Liam shrugs, “I’m his favorite, Niall, sorry.”

They keep on bantering like that, like the old times, like how it should’ve went. They must’ve matured all these years, yes, and maybe Louis wants nothing but to rekindle them all together, not as a band—but as Zayn, Liam, Niall, Louis and Harry.

_Harry._

Louis smiles gently as he meets Harry’s eyes, staring at them silently, eyes burning with something Louis could not pinpoint.

And. 

That just can’t be it.

Without thinking, he wraps his arm around Harry’s shoulder and pushes him down with him and Niall, smiling fondly as Harry squeaks in surprise.

“Aren’t you going to greet Harry, ‘ere?” Louis chirps, pulling Harry visible to the camera.

Harry smiles awkwardly.

“Hey, H.” Zayn greets, and maybe the smile on his face looks a bit forced. “How are ‘ya?”

“‘M good,” Harry responds timidly. “You?” he asks, hopeful. 

Which— _Understandable._ Wouldn’t know how to face an old friend too after making a comment about zebras on national television. Like.

“Never better.” Zayn smiles.

And then there’s a moment of silence, the five of them not knowing when or how to speak because _that’s just it._ Until,

“Did you just fucking fart, Niall?”

They all laughed.

* * *

 

_“Is this a joke?” Louis asked, voice a mixture of emotions Harry could not completely decipher._

_He didn’t respond nor did he bother looking up. He couldn’t meet Louis gaze, not now, or ever. He knew that if he did—his facade would fall right then and there because he was aware that Louis was the only one who could unravel him whole and read him like an open book. That was the last thing he wants to happen right now._

_“I don’t approve of this. We’re not going on a bloody hiatus, Harry.” Louis shook his head, plopping himself against the edge of the bed. He still wore the same black shirt he probably stole from Harry’s bag last night, his soft fringe falling right over his eye. “Have you even told Liam and Niall about this?”_

_“Yes,” Harry replies, shifting in his seat as he attempts to busy himself by taking off his boots—or maybe indirectly telling Louis that he didn’t want to talk about this right now. “They’re both okay with it.”_

_“And I’m the last one to know?” Louis snaps, his eyebrow cocked on one side. “You ever thought how the boys would really feel about this? How I would fucking feel?”_

_The memory of Niall’s glazed eyes flashed through his mind momentarily. Niall didn’t seem to want to agree at first, constantly opposing and arguing with soft pleas and almost incoherent “Not now please, I love what we’re doing,” although eventually, he calmed down and considered the idea. It was what they all needed anyway._

_But so far, It was only Liam who took it appreciatively._

_“I told you,” Harry grunts, pushing off his worn boots towards the foot of the bed. “They’re both okay with it.”_

_“Well, I’m not.” Louis argued stubbornly, his voice already rising in complete frustration. “I’m opposed to it, Harry. I’m not going on a break, I don’t want a fucking break!”_

_“That’s selfish, Louis.”_

_“Selfish?” Louis stood up from the bed, his voice raising higher as he stomps towards Harry. “Just say you want to go fucking solo and leave!”_

_Harry’s eyes widened, looking up and meeting Louis’ eyes—unshed tears glazing the bright cerulean blue of his irises. “What?”_

_Louis scoffs, “I’m not daft, Harry. The bloody phone calls you’ve been receiving are from the management you’ve been contacting for weeks. You’re pursuing your own career, is that it? Wanna leave the band like Zayn did?”_

_Harry was unfazed, sliding his fingers through the curls of his long locks. “I’m tired. Let’s talk when you’re in the right mind.” He stood up lazily and walked over the bed—their shared bed, but Louis grabbed his arm before he could continue._

_“I am in the right fucking mind right now, Harry.” Louis snarled, a crinkle forming in the middle of his furrowed brows._

_“No,” Harry said, tugging his arm off his hold which—bad idea—angered Louis more._

_“We are talking about this right now,” Louis pressed._

_Harry only stared at him, his eyes turning cold under Louis’ gaze—the look on his face clearly authoritative and Harry, Harry was too goddamn tired to deal with his fucking stubbornness._

_“Go fuck yourself.” Harry snapped, gritting his teeth in the process._

_And then,_

_Silence._

_Realisation only hit him as soon as he saw how Louis’ face fell after he said those words. He never cursed Louis, see, not in a way that it would hurt him. A mixture of hurt and disappointment flashed through those cerulean eyes as he stared up at him—and Harry immediately regretted it, cursed himself as Louis’ gaze turned icily._

_He didn’t know what to do as he stood there, he couldn’t move. He felt like he was suddenly glued on his place, Louis’ ice cold glare pinning him on the floor. He felt his heart drop in his chest, and tears started to form at the corners of his eyes._

_So Harry did what first came through his mind, grabbing his keys and sauntering towards the door with Louis calling his name as he slammed the door close behind his back._  

**— H —**

Two words.

Two words that seem too good to be true to Harry. He feels like he’s floating, the butterflies in his stomach rounding about as his grin reaches up from ear to ear.

Just because of those two bloody words.

“I’ll drive.” Niall says, opening the car door and settling himself in the driver seat.

Harry wants to pinch himself, because for six days now, his limbs and bum have been screaming to remove themselves off the shitty leather material of the driver’s seat. And Harry wants to kiss Niall right now because _thank fuck,_ he’s finally got some sense in his head. 

“Are you sure you’re alright, Niall?” asks Louis as he climbs in the backseat, hair all messy up in his head and he looks so fucking comfortable underneath those piles and piles of coats and jackets. 

He looks soft.

And Harry’s mind flashes back to yesterday. He hadn’t mean it actually, he just came back to change into an appropriate swimwear, not instantly realizing that _well,_ Louis could take advantage of his free time and just—okay, he didn’t mean to snoop and to intrude his privacy and just, just stand there all frozen listening to Louis’ soft groans as he pleasures himself. 

It’s different though, when he hears his name—snapping him out of his reverie as soon as he realizes he finishes and walks out of the door with his jeans tightening around his thighs. He didn’t know what to do, so he ran down the corridor and locked himself in the Hotel’s public loo, wanked himself off whilst replaying the same sounds coming from Louis’ as he does the same.

Harry could not look at Louis after that.

But Louis doesn’t seem bothered at all, considering that he wasn’t even aware Harry’s heard him (Harry’s pretty sure he did) so he just continues being Louis; being fun and happy and throwing comebacks here and there while losing the ability to maintain eye contact with Harry and _fuck._

The usual tension’s back between them.

So Harry melts in every fiber of his body knowing that well _one,_ first and foremost, Louis got off to the thought of Harry—which isn’t right at all, because they’re ex-lovers and ex-lovers shouldn’t mutually jerk off at the thought of their _e_ xes. 

But at least he knows he’s still got a bit of an effect on him after all.

And then there’s _two,_ he doesn’t have a single idea what to do with that information. Should he act on it and make the first move is beyond him _because_ this is Louis Tomlinson, the love of his fucking life and he doesn’t want to make another mistake and kill off the fire between them completely.

“Oh shit,” Niall curses loudly, snapping Harry out of his reverie. He turns towards him and watches confused as Niall turns the ignition one more time.

It starts,

and shuts off again.

“Fuck,” Niall hisses as he slams his palms over the steering wheel. “Fuck, H, we’re stuck.”

“What do you mean we’re stuck?” Louis asks from behind, voice a little gruff from sleep. His eyes a bit droopy behind the lids, Harry could not help but fond. It’s probably been a few hours already since the road off. 

“I’m gonna have to call assistance, Lou.” Niall sighs.

Louis grunts. “Fuckin’ told you this old thing is a crap, but you never listened.”

Harry sighs, focusing his attention on Niall. “How long would it take, then?” 

Niall shrugs. “Ten to Twelve hours. Who knows?”

“You’re a bloody idiot, car repairs don’t usually take that long,”

“It will, Lou. Trust me.” Niall bites his lip, gripping the steering wheel before turning to Harry. “H, I think you and Louis should check-in to the nearest hotel. I’m gonna stay here. What ‘ya think?”

Harry blinks. Leaving Niall in here wouldn’t be that pleasant, knowing how much of an idiot he actually is—he’d put himself in danger and make an absolute shit out of himself.

Also—not that it’s necessary to know—but the thought of being alone with Louis all night makes Harry all frenzy.

“What are you talking about, Niall? We’re not leaving you here.” Louis retorts, a frown etched upon his face.

Niall sighs, scratching his head in obvious distress. “We’ll all die freezing in here if y’all don’t move your stubborn asses, ‘ya know? In fact, both of you won’t be any good of a help if you stay.” he blurts, annoyance obvious in the tone of his voice. 

And Harry considers it for a moment, blinking his large doe eyes between Louis and Niall.

He doesn’t make a move.

 

* * *

  

“Can you move any faster?” 

Harry tries to jog faster—tries. His long legs dig through layers of snow as he catches up to Louis from behind, ice scrunching underneath his boots.

He pants heavily, because despite of his lanky body, and his athletic built or his weekly joggings during breaks; nobody can fucking walk this far buried in deep layers of sodding snow.

Except maybe for Louis.

Louis who’s currently walking before him, a few feet from where Harry’s being swallowed with hundred feet of frozen shit or whatever synonym you can derive with god damn snow.

“Let’s stop here for the night,” Louis speaks, stopping in his tracks right in front of a small and old infrastructure that stands beyond them.

And Harry can’t figure out whether this is a motel or an abandoned haunted house you’d see from shitty horror movies. 

He follows Louis in nonetheless.

* * *

 

“I can’t believe this,” Louis huffs as he inserts the key through its whole, twisting the knob lazily and pushing the door open.

 Harry watches him in amusement as he strolls in, looking around the room with obvious curiosity; amazed at how—well—unusual it is. 

Maybe Harry’s gotten too familiar with five star experiences, the good smell of luxury and the different aura that would radiate through the walls—unlike this one, which is the complete opposite of what he’s usually used to. The awful smell of dust and stale appliances that you can actually tell have not been used for years, the pale white color of the walls chipping off from where it’s been painted—and it’s weird, because Harry feels a sense of calmness within him. 

Or maybe it’s just because of Louis, because Louis is here with him and Louis is _home._ So they’re sharing a fucking room inside a shitty motel because “ _Oh sorry, sir, all the other rooms are currently occupied. So there’s only one available left.”_

The Gods hate him.

But Harry doesn’t dwell on it though, the loud creak of the bed startles him as Louis plops himself against the mattress, releasing a heavy sigh of relief as he spreads his limbs even wider, his shirt hiking up to expose the skin of his belly. Harry tries not to stare.

“I.. I’m gonna take the couch.” Harry says bashfully, darting his eyes over the old, black couch sitting across the room. He could already feel his back aching just by staring at it.

Louis frowns, rolling over his stomach and blinking up at Harry, “Don’t be stupid.” He says, his voice suddenly decreasing to a whisper. “You can have the bed, I’ll take the couch. 

And Harry, Harry could swear he could see a tinge of pink spreading across his cheeks which shouldn’t be that endearing, but it just is.

Harry decides he hates his life.

He was about to protest anyway, because he can’t just let Louis sleep on a couch that’s too far from what he can call comfortable. Louis interjects before he can speak.

“‘M too tired to argue, Harry. Just take it or take it, you don’t have much of a choice.” Louis smiles as he scrambles up from the bed and plopping down the couch, a small groan escaping his lips as he wriggles uncomfortably 

Harry breathes, “I—Are you, Are you sure?" 

Louis hums, hugging himself and turning his back to Harry. “Just go to sleep, love.”

Harry obliges anyway, because he knows that if Louis has made a decision; then that decision is final.

So he sleeps.

 ******— L —**

Louis can’t fucking sleep.

He tried—but he only ended up in a series of him stirring and wriggling over the ugly ass couch in more than a few hours. It feels like a god damn plywood against his back, and it’s not comfortable—at all. At one moment he considers sleeping at the bed beside Harry, but argues against it as soon as the idea pops in his head.

So he gets up from the couch and saunters towards the balcony (which they surprisingly have, _nice)_ sliding the glass door open, the cold air hitting him as soon as he steps out of the room.

He takes a box of fags from under his coat, shoving the lighter down from under his shirt and lighting the cigarette through the collar—smoking and leaning against the railing, eyes drooping sleepily.

He lets his thoughts rake all over in his head—the variety of his family, the release of his album, the offers he’s been receiving and—and Harry.

Because no matter what he does, everything would come back to _Harry._

“Can’t sleep?”

_And speaking of the devil._

He turns his head a little, watching silently as Harry steps towards him. His curls are sticking up all over his head, his white shirt crinkling against his torso; the birds and butterfly visible through the thin fabric (how he manages to tolerate the cold, Louis will never know) and Louis doesn’t let his mind wander towards his own—the ones that compliment Harry’s, and just focuses on the way he rubs the sleep from his green doe eyes. 

Louis looks away, only feeling a sense of warmth as Harry settles beside him, mirroring Louis as he leans towards the railing.

“Nah,” Louis smirks, “Pretty sure I’d sleep on the road tomorrow, don’t need much of it.”

“You sure?” Harry murmurs, “We can switch. You can take the bed. 

“I’m fine, Harry.” Louis says. He Ignores the way his heart hammers against his chest, because the gesture’s just out of Harry’s kindness. He’s always been like that; Treating everyone with unreasonable kindness.

There’s a brief silence between them, and Louis can’t actually figure out if it’s comfortable or not—but he doesn’t make a move to step away.

“It’s been a while since we last had a proper talk.” Louis mumbles softly, eyes plastered on the place beyond him. “How’s Anne?" 

Harry looks taken aback, but answers nonetheless. “She’s fine. Better.”

Louis smiles sadly, “Sorry if I didn’t make it to Robin’s.. you know..” 

Harry nods, “It’s fine. I heard from mum that she’d gotten a call from you. It’s totally fine. I’m pretty sure Robin would understand too.” he reassures.

“Yeah,” Louis sighs, “How about Gemma?”

 Harry’s family has been very kind and accepting to him back when they were still together, Anne treated him like a second son and Gemma as a little brother. It’s completely normal to ask about them, he thinks. 

“Gemma’s doing great. Gonna be releasing her own line of these uh, shades soon, haven’t you heard from Lottie? Very proud of her though.” Harry smiles fondly, and Louis quickly notices how he still dimples a lot when he talks about his family—the same way as before.

“Good to hear.” Louis nods, “Lottie’s doing great on her own too. Fizzy and the twins are excelling in school and uh, Ernest and Dorris are still the brats they are.” 

Harry laughs softly, but doesn’t make a move to respond.

And for some reason, the silence that soon follows is deafening; it’s painful and uncomfortable, and Louis could not fucking stand it.

“Do you think—“ Harry starts suddenly, voice low. He cuts off his thoughts as soon as he started, obvious hesitation radiating off of him. 

“Do I think what?” Louis asks, peering through him, eyebrows etched down curiously; _expectantly._

Harry doesn’t speak, he keeps his head low.

“Do I think what, Harry?” Louis repeats, because whatever Harry was going to say; he wanted to fucking know what it was.

“Never mind—“

“Tell me.” Louis says, forcefully this time.

Harry looks up, hesitating but eventually meets Louis’ eyes. The familiar emerald green bright under the light of the moon, reflecting down to his form, and Louis can’t think of anything else but how beautiful Harry Styles is. His heart keeps jumping against his chest, and Louis could recognize the feeling—the feeling that only Harry could give him.

Harry opens his mouth to speak, his reluctance obvious in his eyes, emotions reflecting against the moonlight.

“Do you,” he says, mumbling. “Do you think we could.. we could go back to the way it was... before?”

Louis’ mouth opens slightly, eyes wide in surprise. The words came through his brain, swirling teasingly as his heart continues to beat erratically. And he feels hope erupting from within him that he didn’t know was _just_ there. 

“Y-You..” Louis stammers, because he doesn’t know what to say. He can’t _find_ the words to say. 

Harry interjects. “I just.. I miss the lads. The band. Like, we should hang out? I don’t know. Just with Zayn and uh, Liam... and.. I miss you too. Us.” 

And.

And _oh._

Because just like that, all the hope Louis has found from himself melts away quickly as he found it. 

Just like that.

And it hurts.

“You miss.. us?” Louis asks calmly. 

“Yeah,” Harry nods timidly, his little curls bouncing as he do so. “I just.. I just hope we can be friends.. again.” 

Another pang in the chest.

So anger starts to build up instead, along with frustration and confusion. Louis feels dizzy, and he wants to speak. He knows he’d be unreasonable, because he shouldn’t have ever thought that there could be a possibility that Harry would still feel the same way. That Harry would still want him as much as Louis wants him.

He feels tears forming at the corners of his eyes, and he tries to blink them away—only for it to roll down his cheeks.

“You can’t just fucking say that." 

Harry’s face falls.

Louis knows he’s being petty, and pathetic. He can’t help but pity himself for it. But he needs to let it out, because he’s going to implode if he keeps it in any longer.

“Lou, I—“ Harry steps towards him, careful and sad, _and who gave him the right to be fucking sad?_

“You can’t just fucking say that, Harry!” He shouts, angry tears pooling in his eyes. “Weren’t you the one who left? Weren’t you the one who wanted a fucking _break_ that we all know we never needed?! And then, what? you cut us all off from your life. You cut me off from your life, got rid of me like I never mattered to you and just, _just fucking left!_ You fucking left me thinking what I’ve possibly done wrong for you to leave me. _”_

Harry stares at him, eyes filled with an unexplainable glint of hurt—and Louis just doesn’t fucking care about anything right now.

“I did everything for you. I went on with the bloody PR that I never wanted to participate in just to protect you, our god damn relationship. I let the bad image fall upon my shoulders to save you from all the bullshit they want to throw into you. I lied to people, I made myself look like a fucking prat right in front of everyone just to keep our relationship but what do I fucking get in return? You dropped me because you got tired of everything and gave up on me.” Louis’ breathing rapidly, eyes blurry with the tears and emotions he’d pooled up in his chest and only does he realize that Harry is crying too, desperately reaching for him while Louis swats his hands away. “I was ready to give up everything if you’d only asked me to.”

“Louis, stop.. please I’m sorry—“ Harry cries out, but Louis takes another step back. 

That’s when reality dawns on Louis. He feels himself regain awareness and his heart clenches as he sees Harry’s pleading eyes grabbing for him.

“I—“ Louis mutters as he shakes his head frantically, stepping further away from Harry. The tears continue to fall straight from his eyes, now from pain he’s feeling—how pathetic he finds himself, how pitiful he must have been and how _he let his feelings_ take over and let himself say things he knew he’d regret. “N-No.. just.. no, Harry. We can’t be friends.”

Harry stands frozen now, the same tears rolling down his cheeks. “Louis..” he mutters weakly.

“I can’t be friends with you knowing that I’d end up hurting myself more than I’m doing so.”

So Louis leaves.


End file.
